Turn the Other Cheek
by Jbsullivan17
Summary: Clarke (3:49AM): You know that gay bartender? Not as gay as we thought...


**One Year Ago:**

"Where are we?" Raven grimaced, sitting across from Clarke and Clarke wondered what she was doing there at all.

"You two are seriously fighting over something as stupid as a pair of jeans? You stuck together through the Finncident and this is what gets you two fighting? Stupid. This place is awesome. Everyone that works here is family. The owner is the adoptive father of one of the gay bartenders who claims the other gay bartender is his brother. Security, they're like cousins... mmm, black sheep, they're weird. You two are my family and I know you're each other's family so forget the pair of jeans and—"

"Clarke's ass stretched them out and now I can't fit in them!"

"I didn't wear your jeans, Raven, we're not even the same size. I wear petite, why would I want to roll that much fabric up around my ankle? You've had them forever so they're worn out, buy a new pair!"

"You buy me a new pair!"

"Okay, stop!" Octavia intervened. "If this is how you two are out in public, I don't think I want to know what your apartment looks like. You both have great asses, but Raven, Clarke has wider hips than you. She can't fit into your jeans no matter how hard she tries. So she really couldn't have stretched out your jeans."

Raven scoffed, "You're defending her?"

"No, I'm trying to get you to see how Clarke couldn't have done this."

"I don't need you fighting my battles, O."

"I'm not."

"Whatever," Raven grumbled.

Clarke rolled her eyes, "I need a drink."

She walked over to the bar and waited for the bartender closest to her to come over after handing a guy a beer.

"What can I get you?"

"Shot of Patron and a Yuengling."

"You got it," he nodded. "Hey," he started as he poured the shot first. "You know Octavia?"

"She's my best friend. How do you..."

"Dating my old college roommate. I'm Miller."

"Clarke," she smirked, downing the shot as Miller poured her Yuengling into a glass.

"Well, Clarke, first drink's on me. Any friend of O's is a friend of the Dropship's."

Clarke smiled, "Thank you. Where did that name come from anyway?"

"You'd have to ask Bellamy, it's a joke with him and our boss, Kane, and they won't tell anyone. I doubt Octavia knows."

The other bartender came over and dropped a second beer on the counter. "For O," he said simply and walked away.

Clarke's heart sputtered, the asshole gay bartender was fucking gorgeous. Shaggy black hair, broad shoulders and thick biceps hidden under a Dropship shirt that was a size too small and fraying at the seams.

Clarke looked to Miller questioning the drink and he smirked. "It's good. That's Bellamy, he's an ass but also the best person I know."

"He just acted like an asshole."

"He sure as hell wasn't acting."

Clarke smiled, "Thanks for the drink. Could I get another shot? My roommate would hate me more if I don't bring her something back."

"More?" he asked, filling another shot glass.

"She thinks I wore her jeans, but we are nowhere near the same size. It doesn't make any sense."

Miller rolled her eyes, "Girls, you're crazy. My boyfriend can wear my jeans if he wants, though it usually means they'll be torn off him the moment I realize it."

Clarke smiled, she loves hearing about happy couples. Sure, she hates that she isn't a part of one but she loves knowing that other people are happy. She wanted that for Raven and Octavia, hell, she even wanted that for her mother. But sometimes she felt lonely and wanted it for herself too.

* * *

 **Now:**

"You weren't drunk, right?" Clarke huffed through heavy breathing.

"Usually my line," he said next to her.

Clarke peeked over at him, her eyes locked on the scar on his upper lip. "Usually?"

"Yes, usually," Bellamy smirked. "Like I usually don't hook up with my little sister's best friend."

Clarke grimaced thinking of all the girls she was friends with and coming up too short on answers. "Sister?"

* * *

 **4 Hours Ago:**

Clarke stormed into the bar, surpassing Murphy and Mbege at the door—they stopped carding her a month after she and Raven began going to the bar twice a week—and strode right up to the bar. She had the day from hell because of Cage fucking Wallace and she wanted to forget, alcohol poisoning was her only choice.

"Fucking oxymorons," she mumbled when hot gay bartender, Bellamy, stopped in front of her with his usual hot, annoying smirk. "What can I get you tonight, Princess?"

"The usual," she grimaced.

His brow quirked up, "You have a usual?"

"I'm not in the mood tonight for whatever quipy banter you think will get you a bigger tip. So whatever's going to make me forget that today ever happened is my order."

"Great sex." That fucking smirk again.

Clarke scoffed, "Yeah, well, unless you're offering, it's not on the table. And you're not offering so..."

"My shift ends in five."

"Seriously?"

Bellamy smiled, a real smile for once and nodded, "Unless you're not interested."

"I'm... I'm interested."

* * *

 **Now:**

"Sister?" Clarke asked, looking over at Bellamy skeptically.

"Octavia."

She scoffed, "She told us you were gay."

Bellamy smirked and Clarke had to admit it was a good look on him. "Yeah, well, maybe if I were a girl."

"She also never mentioned she had a brother."

"Yeah, it's not like we have the same bone structure or anything," he said sarcastically and Clarke wondered how they were related but that's too much for a one night stand with their gay (or not) bartender of her favorite bar.

He chuckled, "I can see the wheels turning. Different dad's."

"I'm that obvious?"

"Everyone that knows us thinks it so I'm used to it."

"Right, well, I'm going to go. Thank you," Clarke stood and started getting her clothes from the floor.

"Clarke," his hand landed on her shoulder and she looked back at him over her shoulder, a new wave of heat fell over her as she got a better look at his abs and shoulders. How hadn't she paid attention to them in the last hour?

"I was trying to ask you out tonight. Don't get me wrong this was great, amazing even, but I've been talking myself up to it for a few months now. Miller says I'm hopeless."

"Miller! I asked Miller and he just laughed and walked away."

"Because he's the gay asshole bartender, I'm the pan asshole bartender with a massive crush on a blonde princess who thought I was gay for a year."

"You hooked up with him," Clarke smirked.

"Once. It was horrible and we vowed never to talk about it. We were fifteen and trying to figure out our sexualities. We are friends and it's awesome."

Clarke smirked, turning back around towards him, "So this blonde princess who thought you were gay, what if she wanted that date?"

"We should definitely do that," Bellamy smiled before faltering and turning into a frown. "Are you leaving?"

"Unless orgasm number six is on the table."

"Six?"

"Yeah, two and three were on top of each other. Your mouth is amazing by the way," she leaned over and kissed him sweetly and he pulled her down to him kissing her deeper and she straddled his hips, grinding down on his hard, thick cock.

"Orgasm number six," he smirked, kissing her nose.

"Wait, get up," she said frantically climbing off him and waited for him to stand on the side of the bed watching her. "I—I've never done this before."

"Done what?"

"Will you fuck my ass?"

"Uh, you... are you sure? You've—you've never—"

"Aside from letting me think you were gay for a year, I trust you and I want to do this."

* * *

An hour later, Clarke was blissfully sore while sipping on a cup of coffee and checked her phone while Bellamy was cooking eggs. Three texts from Raven.

(10:37PM): Where are you?

(11:58PM): Babe, are you coming home?

(1:33AM): Seriously, I'm about to call the police.

Clarke smile and wrote back.

(3:49AM): You know that gay bartender? Not as gay as we thought...

She slipped her phone back into her bag and went back to the kitchen, leaning on the island opposite Bellamy. "Raven's freaking out worried about me."

"Did you tell her you're okay?"

"I told her that you are most definitely not gay. I mean, you're pan, which is awesome, but you are way too good at cunnilingus to—"

Bellamy groaned, "Say it again."

"Say what?"

He gave her a look and she smirked, knowing exactly what he wanted.

"Cunnilingus," she said slowly and Bellamy pulled the skillet off the burner and pressed Clarke back against the counter, devouring her mouth.

"I love it when you talk dirty," he groaned against her throat, carrying her back to his bedroom. "What's his name?"

"Who?"

"Mission accomplished," he smirked, kissing down her stomach and his tongue… oh, FUCK!

Cage W—who?

Best night ever.


End file.
